Chapter Thirteen
Marie Claude and I were going over the next week’s reservations, assigning rooms, when I heard the front door open. I paused, waiting to hear a guest call out. Silence. Good.
I nodded to Marie Claude. “Okay, are we good, then? This Swedish couple asked for a balcony and a garden view and the ground floor. How do they expect a balcony on the ground floor?”
She flashed a smile. “I thought bank patrons were crazy, but they had nothing on these guests. They want the moon and the sun.”
“Yes, well, welcome to the hospitality industry,” I said.
“Hello?” a voice called.
“I’ll go—” I stopped.
Marie Claude turned white as a sheet and rocked back in her chair.
“Are you okay?” I asked, concerned.
She put one hand over her mouth and, with the other, gestured me out of the office.
I hurried to the door, glanced back at her, and went to the front desk.
There was a young man standing there, tall and impossibly handsome. His face was all sharp angles, and his dark hair was swept off his forehead in a way that seemed familiar. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his body slim and wiry. He had a bulging backpack over one shoulder, and there were two suitcases on the floor beside him.
“Hello,” I said, my mind racing. We didn’t have any arrivals booked for today and only one room available for part of the week. “Are you looking for a room?”
He grinned. His English was perfect, without a trace of an accent. “You must be Lucy.” He stretched his hand over the counter. “I’m Philippe.”
Of course he was. As I took his hand, I saw Bing as he must have looked thirty years ago, young and reckless, ready to take on the world.
“Do they know you’re here?” I asked. “Claudine didn’t say anything.”
He dropped his hand and shook his head. “I wanted to surprise them. Unless they’re both off to London. Then the surprise would be on me.”
“No,” I said, grinning. “Your father is in his studio. Claudine is in the garden, I believe. Karl is harvesting zucchini at an alarming rate.”
He waggled a finger at me. “Your American is showing,” he said with a laugh. “Not zucchini. Courgette.”
“Yes.” I nodded. “Courgette. By the bushel.”
He clapped his hands. “Excellent. That means ratatouille. Not from my mother’s kitchen, of course. Unless her cooking has improved?”
I shook my head, laughing now. “Sadly, no.” He made a face, and I think I fell just a little in love with this charming, charismatic man.
He picked up his suitcases. “I’ll put these away and go and find her. You won’t give me away, will you?”
I put my hand over my heart. “Never.”
I watched as he made his way across the lobby, disappearing into the corridor behind the staircase.
I let out a slow breath and walked back into the office. Marie Claude sat very still, the color still drained from her cheeks. She looked up at me in the doorway.
“Where is he?”
“He’s putting away his luggage. Then he’s going into the garden to find Claudine.”
She stood up abruptly. “Are we done?”
Technically, this was her shift until seven that evening, but I nodded. “We’re good. You’re going?”
“Yes. He can’t see me.”
“Marie Claude,” I said gently, “how can you possibly imagine that he’s not going to see you? He’s going to be here for what, three weeks? You must work. You can’t spend the whole time behind the door of your appart.”
She wrung her hands. “I didn’t think I would … I mean, I thought…” She stared at me, her eyes wide. “What should I do?”
“Go out and say hello to him. Now. Go out to the lobby and wait for him and greet him as though he were just another guest.”
“But he’s not,” she whispered. “Look at me. I feel like I can’t even breathe, and that’s just after hearing his voice.” She gulped. “What about Eliot? He can’t see me like this. He will be crazy. He is already so jealous and angry.”
“Marie Claude,” I said as I walked over to her. “I told you. Don’t ask me for advice here. I am the last one to tell you what to do about love. I’m a failure at relationships.”
“But who else is there? I can’t talk to Claudine. This is her son.” She covered her face with her hands. “Everyone I know, they were glad he left. They all told me we would have been so unhappy. No one will understand what just happened now.”
I crouched in front of her. “What do you mean? What just happened?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I heard his voice and I wanted to run to him. To throw my arms around him and tell him how much I missed him. How much I love him.”
“Marie Claude,” I said, shocked. “What?”
“I can’t help it, Lucy. I am overwhelmed. The feeling just came over me like … like … a burst of wind. I couldn’t stop it if I tried.”
I sat across from her as I watched her. Tears were streaming down her face. “What should I do?” she whispered again.
My heart lurched. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. But I have no idea what you should do.”
And that was the truth. I’d often, in the past two years, wondered how I would feel if I suddenly saw Tony again. I had loved him so fiercely. Would I be able to forget how much he’d hurt me? The anguish he had caused me and the many people I felt responsible for? Or would the mere sound of his voice send me right back to a place Marie Claude now occupied, at the mercy of an ungovernable heart?
I grabbed both her hands and squeezed. “Look at me,” I said quietly.
She took a deep breath and looked into my eyes.
“Now. You’re going to breathe in very slowly.”
She nodded and took a long, shaky breath.
“Again,” I said.
She did.
“Now, you are going to tell me three amazing things about Eliot.”
She stared.
Hmm. This was not going as well as I’d hoped. “Okay … tell me three reasons you married him.”
She nodded. “He had a good job. His family wasn’t around to bother us. And he liked living in Rennes.”
Wow. This was not going well at all. “Now, tell me three things he does that make you happy.”
She chewed her lip. “Ah, um.” She scrunched up her forehead, thinking hard. “He is a good cook.”
I wasn’t going to give up just yet. “Go on.”
Her face crumpled. “Philippe made me laugh. He believed in all my dreams. He would dance with me in the middle of the room, singing to me. He would put a flower on my bed in the middle of the day. He—”
“Marie Claude, stop.” I squeezed her hands. “You chose Eliot. He’s your husband now.”
She jerked her hands away. “And I have just been reminded of what a stupid choice I made.” She lurched out of her chair and ran. I dropped my head and heard the front door slam shut.
I’d told her I wasn’t any good at this.
I knew that Marie Claude was scheduled the next morning. I woke early, puttered around until a decent hour, then made my way over to the hotel, pretending that I was just doing a normal walk-through rather than satisfying an intense curiosity to see the two of them together.
Claudine usually sat in the salon from eight-ish until the last of the guests had finished their breakfast. She chatted to those who motioned her over, cleared empty tables of their white cups and saucers, made sure there were enough croissants. This morning, however, she was sitting apart from the guests, Philippe across from her, Bing lounging at his son’s side. They were all laughing together at something Philippe was saying. Seeing him with Bing, I saw how much alike they were, not only in looks but in mannerisms as well. Philippe had the same way of leaning in when explaining something; he had the same tilt of the head, flash of smile. I got myself a cup of espresso and was standing with one of our American guests, when Marie Claude suddenly appeared in the doorway. Looking white but determined. I could see her swallow hard and square her shoulders as she approached the three of them at the far end of the room.
“Claudine,” she said, somewhat loudly. “I just heard from the council about the new meeting date. Next Thursday. You said you wanted to know right away.” Then, with a slow turn of her head, she looked down. “Hello, Philippe. You’re looking well.”
He was staring ahead, out into the sunlit patio, and at the sound of her voice did not move. Then he pushed his chair back so that he could better look up at her. “And you, Marie Claude, are as beautiful as ever. I’ve missed you.”
I wanted to march over and smack him upside the head. Wrong, Philippe. You’re supposed to just smile in acknowledgment. Maybe comment on how it had been a long time. How about congratulating her on her marriage to Eliot? Anything but telling her she was beautiful. Anything but saying he missed her. What the hell was wrong with him?
There was something shimmering in the air between them. She suddenly relaxed, and a smile broke across her face that was warm and lovely and only for him. He did not stand but shifted his body just enough to allow her space in his world, at the same time shutting the rest of us out. His face was bright as he spoke to her, and I could not hear the words, but saw the look that went between Bing and Claudine. Then Marie Claude laughed, a clear, silvery sound I had not heard before.
And then it struck me. He had no interest in trying to make her comfortable. He didn’t want her to feel he was not a threat. Because he was. I suddenly felt very sorry for Eliot, because I saw, in real time, what the two of them were to each other. Eliot had every reason in the world to be jealous.
Simone, coming beside me with a basket of fresh berries, leaned toward me. “Poor Eliot,” she whispered. “He doesn’t stand a chance.”
And standing there, watching Marie Claude and Philippe weave together a web of what seemed like spun joy, I had to agree.
Eliot left for Lyon. I heard him slamming the door early one morning, muttering as he passed by my window. I wanted to jump out of bed and follow him out, urging him to stay. I wanted to remind him that his wife was feeling a bit off-center and that his staying with her would show love and support. I wanted to remind him that of all the men she could have chosen, she had married him.
What I really wanted to tell him was that he was a stubborn, arrogant fool to leave his wife with a charming, handsome man who was still in love with her, especially since he’d been acting like a complete bear for weeks.
I just stood by the window as he trundled past, thinking that there were two sides to every story, and maybe I didn’t fully understand his. Maybe I never would. But it was not my job. That was Marie Claude’s job.
I was burning with curiosity, so I waited until Philippe and Claudine were settled in for breakfast before slipping up the attic stairs to Bing’s studio.
“Hello?” I called up.
“Come,” he answered.
He emerged from the bathroom as I walked up, dressed in linen drawstring trousers and nothing else. His chest was broad and covered by a mat of gray hair, and his skin was almost golden. I could see the ripple of muscle across his shoulders as he scrubbed his hair with a towel.
“Lucia? Everything okay?” he asked.
I let out a slow breath. Everything is fine, I wanted to tell him. Just perfect. Can I just sit here for a bit? Look at your naked torso? Imagine those strong hands entangled in something more interesting than a towel?
“Lucia?”
“Morning. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
He waved a hand. “No, it’s fine. Just let me put on a shirt.”
Really? Do you have to?
He narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”
Oh my God. Had I said that out loud? “I mean, you don’t have to. I’ve seen naked men before. Well, not that you’re naked, but … Never mind.”
He grinned. “I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared behind a large screen on the other side of his bed. How French, I thought. That’s where I would go, to peel off one article of clothing at a time, flipping them up in the air and over the screen until there was a small pile of clothes on the floor, and then I’d step out in all my shining glory …
“Lucia?”
I cleared my throat. “Eliot left this morning,” I blurted.
Bing made a face. “I tried to tell him that was not such a good idea,” he muttered. “I like Eliot. He is a decent man. I think he took advantage of Marie Claude. When he met her, she was still in a bad place because of Philippe, and I think Eliot saw an opening he wouldn’t have had otherwise. Not that I blame him. She is a delight, that girl. Any man would be lucky to have her. But once they married, he became very complacent. And that was a dangerous thing to do. Women, even the most independent women, need to be shown they are loved. Valued.” He looked at me. “Letting a woman know how important she is to a man is a most valuable weapon.”
“You make it sound like love is a war,” I said lightly.
He crossed to me and stood close. “Not a war. I prefer to think of it as … a constant engagement.”
“Oh?”
He reached out and brushed a stray curl from my cheek, his fingers scorching my skin. “Falling in love with a person, being in love with a person, is not passive. It is work. It takes time and energy.” His hand drew back, and he leaned forward so that our eyes were perfectly level. “Especially if one of the parties needs a bit more convincing than the other.”
“And how do you know?” I whispered. “That one party needs more convincing?”
“Usually,” he said, a smile playing across his lips, “I can tell by how fast they run in the opposite direction every time they see me coming.”
I had been leaning forward, I could feel myself being drawn closer and closer, to the clean scent of his skin, the damp curl of his hair around his ears, the crinkle around his eyes. I wanted to slip my arms around his neck, feel the cool damp in my fingers as my hands crept through his hair. I wanted to know how those lips would taste, if they would be soft against my own. He lifted a hand, and I felt him lightly touch the curve of my waist, and I took an abrupt step back.
No.
No.
I cleared my throat. “I need to go to work.”
“Of course,” he said softly, still smiling.
I turned and carefully made my way down the steps. I was proud of myself for not running.
Henry Spicutto was something of a legend in the travel business. He started giving small, personal tours of his hometown in Italy, then moved into larger groups in all of Italy, and finally became king of the European bus tour, catering mainly to wealthy senior married couples who didn’t mind walking around when they were sightseeing, but didn’t want to worry about finding the next meal. When he retired, he turned over the bulk of his business to his sons but kept his thumb in the pie by going back to small, intimate tours, personal and expensive. I’d met him on several occasions while at The Fielding, as he was very active in several hospitality groups. We liked each other. And after the scandal broke, he was one of the few industry people who reached out to me right away, offering support. He’d sent me flowers on the day it was announced that the FBI was dropping its case against me.
He was a very sweet old man and one of the few professional contacts I hadn’t purged from my phone. So, when his number came up as calling in, I was surprised and delighted.
“Henry? Hello! Oh, it’s so good to hear from you!”
“Lucy, honey, I should have called you sooner, but, you know…” I could picture him shrugging, a short, wiry man in his seventies, with a halo of gray hair and twinkling dark eyes.
“Yes, I do know. Life. Gets in the way, doesn’t it?”
He chuckled. “Yes. It does, but it goes on, and that’s why I’m calling. I have a trip in four weeks. Not big. Fifteen couples. We were going to do Paris and vineyards, but this group, they keep telling me they don’t want to walk outside in the sun and dirt just to see a bunch of grapevines. So, I thought maybe we’d do Brittany instead. Rennes, Dinan, Saint-Malo, the whole English Channel thing. What do you think?”
“I think that’s great,” I said. Then, jokingly, “Do you need a few rooms?”
“Why do you think I called?” he asked. “I’ve been keeping tabs, you know? Your place looks pretty good. So, can you do fifteen doubles for eight days? We’d come in on a bus, of course, and maybe do a few overnights, but we’d use the Hotel Paradis for a home base. What do you think?”
I’d been at the front desk but hurried to the back office and sat behind my computer. “When?”
“Arriving September 3. Departing the eleventh.”
We had the rooms. Of course we did. September marked the end of vacation season in Europe, and on the last day of August, we went from a full house to almost empty.
“Our elevator is tiny and ancient,” I told him.
“My guys are spry, and they can use the exercise. Can we all be together?”
“You can have the whole second floor,” I told him. “And we can put tables and chairs in the hallway so your clients can sit and talk together. We only do breakfast.”
“Yeah. I know. Your website is very nice.”
I felt a glow. “Thanks, Henry.”
“How are you liking it over there? Must be very different.”
“You have no idea.”
“Are you right there? At the desk, I mean. These folks don’t speak French.”
“I’m everywhere, Henry, and if I’m not around, I will make sure Marie Claude is available. She speaks excellent English.”
“Good.”
“So, to confirm, we have fifteen double rooms. Email me the names. We will comp another room for you. And David?”
David Garcia had been Henry’s business partner and companion for as long as I’d known him. Twenty years younger than Henry, he was a charming dynamo of a man whose main talent was tempering Henry’s enthusiasm with common sense.
“Of course.”
“Perfect. How would you feel about a barbecue buffet one evening for your guests?” I had been stalling Stavros all summer, but with a tour, it was the perfect chance to get a set number of diners in one place at one time.
“Barbecue as prepared by a French chef? That sounds just great, Lucy. Great.”
I wasn’t sure if Stavros was a chef, but in the months I’d been eating his food, I’d never had a bad meal. That pretty much went for every place I ate in Rennes, but Stavros, I thought, had a certain touch. “Okay, then. That gives you the entire second floor. Some of these rooms have balconies, some don’t. Is that an issue?”
“Nah, they’re pretty chill about that. But I’ll take a balcony.”
I smiled. Henry always treated himself very well. “I really appreciate this, Henry. September was going to be a slow month for us.” And October. And November.
“I’ll talk to some people. Let them know there’s a classy, American-friendly hotel with good rates and a central location.”
“That would be very generous of you, Henry.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I knew Tony a long time.”
“Yes. I know you did.”
“You didn’t deserve any of the bullcrap.”
“No, I don’t think I did. Thank you for supporting me, Henry. You did from the very beginning.” I felt my throat start to close up, and unexpected tears filled my eyes.
“I don’t know why everyone believed him instead of you. You were the one left behind. He was the one who ran.” That had been my argument as well. If I had been a partner in crime, wouldn’t I have disappeared as well? But the FBI had dug in their heels.
“Yes. Well.”
He was silent again. “I gotta go, Lucy. I’ll give a few folks a call and see if we can send some business your way.”
“Thanks again, Henry.”
I hung up and stared at the computer screen. We had one more booking for the week that Henry would arrive and three bookings for the following week. Thanks to Henry, we would maybe make payroll for the month.
I got up to find Claudine and give her the good news. She lit up when I told her.
“This group, you know the owner?”
I nodded. “He does a small, very personalized tour. Usually only ten or fifteen couples, which is perfect for us. You know we couldn’t accommodate larger groups.”
“But he could send more groups our way?”
“Yes, but we talked about this, Claudine. We don’t have the rooms for larger groups.”
She tapped her fingers against the tabletop. “I know that attic rooms are out, but where else could we expand?”
I stared. “Claudine, it’s going to be a very slow fall and winter. There won’t be much money for anything as extravagant as expanding. And where would we go?”
She shrugged. “We could do something with the other stable block. I mean, we don’t need as much storage anymore, and we have room in the cellar.” She wrinkled her brow, thinking. “We’d need to install bathrooms, of course.”
“And heat. We could replace all the existing wooden doors with portes-fenêtres,” I said, my mind kicking into high gear. “Maybe create private patios in front of each unit with planters. A table and some chairs, right in the courtyard? We could get in the ten more units we’d need. It’s a lot of space there.”
Claudine grinned. “Yes. I would be happy to sacrifice Karl’s toolshed for ten more units.”
“But money, Claudine.”
She made a vague gesture. “Maybe I can find another investor somewhere,” she said.
I left, thinking that if anyone could materialize a source of money out of thin air, it was Claudine.
Philippe was making his case.
There were flowers left at the desk when Marie Claude was on. Nothing obvious, often just a single bloom wrapped in a piece of ribbon. The flowers were not from Karl’s garden, so Philippe had to venture out in the very early morning on the days when Marie Claude arrived at seven. She would pick up the offering and pin it to her lapel, or tuck it behind her ear, fluffing her blue hair around it.
He had breakfast every morning with his mother, and if Claudine was aware of his subtle campaign, she never said anything.
Philippe spent most of his time up in Bing’s studio, working, but he would come down at some point in the day just to lean against the counter and talk to Marie Claude. She always lit up when she saw him. He always left her laughing.
I don’t think he ever visited her in her appartement. At least, I didn’t hear anything through the thick walls. In the evenings, when she was not on duty, they would walk together out through the iron gates, returning late. Always laughing.
One morning, when I was at the desk, Philippe came down, his hands smudged with color, the smell of oil paint on his skin.
“Marie Claude isn’t on until this evening,” I told him.
He nodded. “Yes. I know. I just wanted to say hello. And I was wondering if I could spend a little time with you? My mother has told me you are the one I should be learning from.”
I raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Learning what?”
He shrugged. “This business. Apparently, Hotel Paradis is not only up and running but making money. And since I am the sole heir to the family fortune, I should at least know how things work.”
“Well, Philippe, I would be happy to show you how things work. But first”—I looked him up and down—“you need to change. Black pants, white shirt. And as pretty as that particular shade of blue is, you can’t wear it.”
He grinned. “My father is right. You are the consummate professional.”
I felt a glow. Bing had said that about me? After spending weeks—no, months—questioning just about everything I did and said? “I’m good at what I do. And I’ve been doing it for a very long time. So, we can start this morning, once you’ve showered and changed.”
He grinned. God, he was beautiful, and he had his mother’s warmth and charm. He would make an excellent innkeeper, I thought, in the truest, most old-fashioned sense of the word.
A few minutes later, Claudine came out, as she always did, to check reservations.
“We are full?” was always her first question.
“Three empty rooms. But we’ll be full by the weekend,” I told her. “Philippe is coming down later this morning. He says he wants to learn about the hotel.”
She nodded and gave me a grateful smile. “Yes, I think he is coming to terms with his place here. Luckily, Bing has made it clear that you can be a successful artist and be something else. With Philippe, it was always all or nothing.”
“He was young,” I said.
“Yes. Very young. Being away has done him a world of good.”
“And Marie Claude?”
She looked thoughtful. “Marie Claude always had her feet firmly on the ground. Firmly here. I think Philippe sees that ‘here’ is not a bad place to be.”
“But, Claudine,” I said, thinking carefully before I spoke, “she is married to another man.”
She sighed. “I know. I have grown to love Eliot. He is an honorable young man. But this is my son. He has never stopped loving her. And he will try to win her back.” She shrugged. “I cannot tell him not to follow his heart.”
“Even if he breaks up her marriage?”
She looked at me. “Things that are whole cannot be broken, Lucy. Only things that are weak or already have cracks. And only Marie Claude can decide what her marriage is worth.”
I sighed. “If I believed in true love, I suppose I would find this all very romantic.”
She snorted. “You don’t believe in true love? Bah. You know you do.”
I laughed. “Oh, really? And how do you know?”
“Because when people see true love before them, they react. They move, either toward it or away. They either open themselves up, or they close themselves off.” She looked smug. “They may think they are being very cool, and no one can notice, but”—she smiled—“but the world always knows.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks.
“Look,” she said suddenly. “Here comes Philippe. Darling, I will leave you to our good Lucy here. She will teach you everything you need to know.”
He waggled both eyebrows. “Everything? My, I thought I was just getting a lesson in how to run a hotel.”
She laughed delightedly, and I had to join her.
Philippe, in slim black pants and a fitted starched white shirt looked handsome and very efficient. “I am ready for anything,” he announced.
Yes, I thought. He probably was.
Eliot returned from Lyon five days sooner than expected. I was in the back office when he suddenly burst in, looking disheveled and a bit angry. “Where is she?” he demanded.
I looked up from my work. “She won’t be on until this afternoon. I think she and Vera went into the Old City.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea. Shopping?”
“And where is he?” Eliot asked, his eyes darting around the office.
“Where is who?” I asked, refusing to play his game.
“Philippe,” he snapped. “Has he left yet?”
I shook my head. “No. And I don’t think he is leaving. I think he’s going to stay.”
Eliot froze, and his eyes narrowed to ugly slits. “Why?”
“Because this is his home?” I suggested. “Because both of his parents are here? Because someday, this hotel will be his?”
He turned and stomped out.
I sought out Claudine. “Eliot is back. Early. You may have to cover a bit of Marie Claude’s shift. I don’t think it’s going to be a very joyful reunion.”
She shook her head. “I was afraid of this. Yes, of course I can cover.”
As I made my way across the courtyard, I could hear their voices. The doors to their appartement were closed, but I could hear the rise and fall of Eliot’s deep voice and the faint replies. As I opened the door to my appart, Vera popped her head out and motioned me to her door.
“Eliot?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“Yes.” I sighed.
She sat on the bench outside her doorway, and I sat beside her.
“She has been very happy the past few weeks,” she said.
I nodded. “Yes. I noticed.”
“Eliot has been a good husband, but he never made her laugh.” She ran her hands through her cropped hair and shook her head, her earrings clinking faintly together. “I, for one, never understood why she married him in the first place. I watched the whole courtship and would have never expected her to say yes.”
“He should have stayed,” I said. “He should have fought for her.”
“And why should a husband ‘fight’ for his wife to remain faithful?” she asked.
“I don’t think she has cheated on him with Philippe,” I said slowly.
“I’m quite certain she hasn’t,” Vera agreed. “Not physically, anyway. But you’ve seen them together?”
I nodded. “Oh yes.”
“And? Do you really think if Eliot had stayed, she would not have fallen again under Philippe’s spell?”
“I guess,” I said. “I’m angry because Eliot didn’t even try. He didn’t care enough to stay with her, to remind her every day what their marriage was. To show her how much he loved her. He just ran away.”
“Or maybe,” Vera said, “he stepped aside so she could make a decision without undue pressure.”
I stared at her. “Like, what, giving her permission?”
She gave a look that suggested I go back to the drawing board. “Of course not. But it takes two people to be happy, or unhappy, in a relationship. And I don’t think Eliot was ever as happy as he thought he had a right to be.”
We sat in the afternoon sun, just enjoying the breeze and the faint sound of traffic.
“Those roses Karl planted are beautiful,” she said.
“Yes. I bet next year they will be really something.”
“The hotel is doing well, I take it? Lots of folks going in and out.”
“Yes, we’re doing pretty well. Does it bother you? To have all these strangers walking through?”
She looked thoughtful. “It’s not as big a deal as I’d thought it would be. They leave me alone. They’re curious, of course. After all, how often do you see people living in an old stable? I sometimes think I could charge the more curious ones a few euros for a peek inside.”
I laughed. “Karl was thinking about selling some of his produce to the guests. Everyone here is trying to figure out a side hustle.”
“I’m just happy for Claudine. She finally has her hotel and her son, and she deserves all her happiness. She’s a very special person. She was lucky to have found you.”
I didn’t argue, as I might have a few months or even weeks before. Not just anyone could have done what I’d done with Hotel Paradis. I had settled into that truth, and it felt good. This relic had needed a special touch, a different vision, and I had been the one to bring it all together. But I also knew that I, too, had been lucky. I doubted I could have found any other place as healing.
Vera and I watched as Marie Claude hurried out of her appart, running across the courtyard and into the hotel, getting to where she belonged. And a few days later, Vera and I watched again as Eliot, grim-faced and silent, stuffed a duffel bag and two large suitcases into the back of Georges’s Volvo. Eliot got in beside Georges and didn’t even turn to wave as the car slid out of the courtyard and away.